


The Ceremony of Innocence is Drowned

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Series: The Second Coming [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Car Accidents, Gen, Graphic Description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14263836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: Neal tells Peter about his father and who else was on the force with him before he was arrested.Peter tries to come to terms with what this means.





	The Ceremony of Innocence is Drowned

**Author's Note:**

> ... the best lose all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

Peter sat at the kitchen table, pictures, documents and old newspaper clippings scattered in front of him. It was nearly midnight; he had to get up early tomorrow, go to the office. They had a shit storm to deal with, facts to corroborate, dates and data to authenticate. Everything had to be proven—whether it would be proven right or wrong, well. Peter still wasn't sure which one he wanted it to be. Both options were painful.

 _Painful._ Peter scoffed brokenly, taking another sip of his beer. His third tonight.

 _Painful._ The word felt wrong, too big on his tongue and hollow in his head. This wasn't painful. _Painful_ was the bruises that littered Neal's body; _painful_ was six broken bones; each and every stitch that held him together; his _amputated leg._ Peter didn't know the meaning of painful. What he felt now was uncomfortable disbelief, jarring shock. Guilt.

_“We can't trust Kramer. You don't know what he's up to.”_

_“It's just a formality before your hearing. It's nothing to worry about.”_

He scoffed at himself, taking another sip of beer. He scrubbed his face, rubbed his eyes. _What was he even doing?_

“Coming to bed tonight, hon?”

Peter looked over to see Elizabeth walking up to him, dressed in pale blue silk pajamas. Her hair was down from it's ponytail, makeup washed off. She was beautiful.

“Yeah,” he promised, nodding tiredly. “I’ll be up soon.” He didn't move to get up immediately, though, so El came to him instead.

She stood behind the chair, leaning over him, studying the spider's web of evidence he'd made. He leaned his head against her, closed his eyes. God, he was exhausted.

“Aww.” El reached over him, sliding a photo to the edge of the table and scooping it up. “Is this Neal?”

Peter blinked tiredly at the picture, sighing. He nodded. “Yeah. He's . . . three, in that picture, I think.”

El smiled, wrinkles by her eyes. “He's cute. Look at those cheeks!”

Peter studied the photo quietly, eyes scanning every inch. Neal was small, young enough to still carry baby fat in his face. It crinkled his eyes in the picture. He was grinning, expression mischievous even then.

Now, though, whenever Peter saw him smile, it was less mirthful and more . . . Tired. Fake. Not that Peter could blame him, after everything. Hell, Peter himself hadn't really smiled since this whole thing started.

That didn't make the tired lines under Neal's eyes or the slight downturn of his mouth any less uncomfortable. Everything about this was uncomfortable.

_“I know why someone's trying to kill me.”_

_“Do you know who it is?” Peter asked._

_Neal’s fever had gone down, but it still lingered stubbornly. His eyes had new bruises underneath, and his cheeks seemed hollow. He'd lost weight. Neal shifted, masterfully hiding a wince. Peter caught it, anyway. “I have an idea. Peter, you won't like it.”_

_Peter thought of the U-boat treasure. He thought about Mathew Keller kidnapping him, and kidnapping his wife. He thought about Neal lying to him for months. He thought about the anger, fear and desperation he felt when he didn't know where his wife was or if she was okay._

_He thought about Neal, lying still in bed for hours, face damp with sweat as he suffered through a fever that would ultimately take his leg. He thought about how close Neal had come to death._

_“Tell me.”_

Peter picked up an old newspaper clipping, the picture showing 18 of D.C's finest on the police task force. The story underneath talked about the city's recently declining drug-related deaths and shootings and how these detectives and police officers were to thank. To the far left was a man with a strong jawline, dark hair and bright eyes. He was the spitting image of Neal. At first glance and without context, Peter could have actually believed that it was Neal, not his father.

To the other side of the picture was Phillip Kramer, thirty-some years younger and thirty-some pounds lighter. Before going into the FBI and becoming Peter's mentor, Kramer had spent almost fifteen years on the force. He had worked with Neal's father for roughly four and a half years, before James Bennett was arrested. He probably knew the man when Neal was born. Maybe he even met Neal, held Neal before the kid was shipped off to Witness Protection with his mother.

If Kramer really had done this, the thought should have made him sick. Instead, Peter only felt numb.

 _Six degrees of separation,_ he thought. Neal had said the same thing, when Peter pointed out the incredulity of it all. _It can be a small world. It's a coincidence._

It had to be.

_Neal nodded towards Mozzie, who handed him a folder, papers and pictures sticking out of the edges. Peter raised his eyebrows at it as Neal slid out an old photograph, yellowed with age._

_“This is my father,” Neal said, handing it over. Diana leaned across the bed so Neal wouldn't have to. Her eyes widened slightly as she stared at the picture, before passing it to Hughes, then Jones and Peter._

_“And this is important, Caffrey?” Hughes asked, tone firm but gentle._

_“It's important,” Neal promised._

_“A photograph,” Mozzie said, “is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.”_

Peter felt as if he didn't know anything. Nothing made sense, except that Mozzie was right, and that in itself was alarming. “I can't believe he did this, El.”

El sat down next to him, rubbing his back. “Honestly?” she asked, looking at the same picture. “I don't know if I believe it or not, either. But Neal's been through a lot and he deserves to be heard, so we need to listen, anyway.”

“And what do I tell him, if the investigation turns up nothing?”

_“His name is James Bennett. He was a police officer—my mother told me he died when I was three. But he's not dead—he was a dirty cop.” Neal paused, letting them soak that in. No one said anything. “My mom and I were moved into the witness protection program after he was convicted. He wasn't the only dirty cop on the force.”_

_“This has nothing to do with you,” Diana said, reaching over to grab more papers._

_“It wasn't your fault,” Peter mouthed, more to himself than anyone. He was trying to process everything. It was another cop that was trying to kill Neal—possibly another agent._

_Neal smiled at them tiredly. “Surprised?”_

“The truth, Peter. No matter how the investigation goes, if Kramer is innocent or not, Neal deserves the truth.”

Peter studied the photo of Neal grinning, head tipped back in a laugh as he sat on the swing, the motion blurring the edges of his face. He was Danny Brooks, then. Neal had been lied to his entire life, all throughout childhood. El was right. He deserved to know the truth, no matter what it was.

“Alright,” he said. “I'll tell him the truth.”

But first, Peter had to find out what the truth was.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Please leave kudos/comments and if there's a scene you're wanting in the series, let me know! 
> 
> Also, I don't know how much overlap there is, but I PROMISE I'm still working on Brother's of a Kind--its just taking a little longer since there's an actual plot line this time. 
> 
> Hmu on tumblr-- Wolvesandwerewolvesbaby
> 
> :) thanks guys


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